


The Wolf and the Fox

by Varikai



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hijinks, Multi, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, its 3am and i'll do more tags tomorrow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22251448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varikai/pseuds/Varikai
Summary: You are half-elf. The only survivor of The Great Cleansing from your village. You don’t remember much about your family, save for that one of your parents passed down a basic talent for magic. Nothing a Sorcerer would write the Brotherhood about, but enough to make your life a little more interesting.The last thing you can recall clearly from that time was when you were cursed, just before narrowly escaping death. People who say “The truth will set you free!” have never experienced involuntary honesty. Lucky for you, this curse isn’t too life threatening.Sometimes.For the most part.You’d rather not discuss it.That whole mess happened a few decades ago, anyway. Since then, you’ve made a decent living as a travelling entertainer… and thief.You’ve made friends along the way of such liberated company. Magicians, dancers, fools, and bards…Speaking of, it would seem destiny saw fit to reunite with an old friend… and his rather grumpy celebrity companion.For anyone who might be wondering: Geralt of Rivia is rude and smells of onions and chamomile.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 104





	The Wolf and the Fox

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darlings!  
> Aw hell she back at it.  
> Enjoy the fruits of my latest chaotic hyper-fixation.  
> I have a metric butt-ton of ideas and i'll be tagging this fic accordingly when I'm more conscious.  
> Love you guys!

You hated spring.  
  
Bugs began to come back to life.   
The days were deceptively warm, but the nights were just as cold as ever.   
Humans emerged from their winter seclusion, a hefty amount of them now pregnant; what with all that frosty free time; And that meant _more_ people to wander about and wake ancient spirits and curses, wage war, and be a general nuisance.   
Nevertheless, it was busy season for you. Now was the ideal time for travel. Caravans and traders alike would soon populate the roads, waiting to be relieved of their precious cargo by yours truly.   
  
The air smelled of fresh rain and tulips, morning dew kissing your senses every time you took a breath. Your light grey cloak was enough to keep you warm and make you appear more approachable. Beneath the deceptive garment you were dressed for stealth. Black leather pants were tucked into long black Elven boots, their soles flexible and great for silent movement. You wore a long sleeved white blouse with a small leather chest plate, one shoulder brace to aid in your archery, and two leather pockets strapped to both sides of your hips. One brandished six throwing daggers, the other your potions and herbs. Your pack was light as it hung over your shoulder. You only had a few apples and some cheese left. It always worried you when your pack became lighter than your quiver; But today you aimed to replenish.   
As you avoided puddles on the road with a bit of a skip in your step, you looked at the town ahead and wondered how tight their guard was. Rumors of rising tensions in Nilfgaard had some towns sending a few men from their battalion to protect more vulnerable cities. By vulnerable, they meant _valuable_ . This one was rather small and pretty far out into the countryside. You didn't see any silos or armories. It was probably nothing but a tailor, a tavern, and a brothel. Just enough to entertain the farm-folk in the surrounding fields. Whores usually did wonders for the economy for little villages like this.   
The last time you were on this side of the continent you were with a charming little caravan, dancing for coin. Good times. You wished you could stick to the same group of people for longer than a month or two. Company was hard to keep once your companions caught on to your little… _gift._ Soon you would inevitably say things that would get you chased out like a fox from a hen house. After several decades of the same pattern, you’d outgrown the need to rely on companionship to survive. Friends were little more than a means to an end at this point. A cynical view, yes, but you found your demeanor rather optimistic, for what it was worth. At least things were more predictable this way.   
  
  
You walked through the city gates and adjusted your headband before pulling up your hood. Best to keep your ears covered and pale green eyes low in Cintra. Since you were a half-breed, they didn't stick out as obnoxiously as pure-bloods; but your points were still noticeable. The town was relatively quiet. You were happy to discover that this was indeed a town that was short a few patrols. Excellent. You may be able to steal a few days worth of food and maybe even a horse, if you played your cards right.

The Tavern and the Brothel turned out to be one and the same. It was rather large, earning a whistle of appreciation from you. Three stories towered over the surrounding buildings. Seemed this area really invested in local business.   
There were several horses tied up outside. Thank the fates! You loved it when you had options.   
A large, chestnut mare whinnied, as if to call for your attention. With a grin, you walked over to her, extending your hand and respectfully waiting for her to touch you first. Elves and horses shared a special connection for hundreds of years. You appreciated that that trait seemed to have been passed down to you.   
  
“Well, hello to you too.” you smiled as she pressed her snout to your hand, the other moving to pet her mane.   
“What a pretty beastie you are.”   
She grunted happily in response. Continuing to pet her, you eyed her saddle and the quality of her reins. They seemed to be made of high-end material, but worn; as if these were the best horse accessories money could buy years ago. The reins weren’t fastened too tight. Not to mention there were no spurs or extra pockets for a riding crop. It seemed this rider trusted their horse well. Spoiled it, even. A wet pair of lips against your cheek broke your train of thought as laughter erupted from you.   
“Sorry! Sorry. How could I be so rude?” you cooed, reaching in your pocket and pulling out an apple. As she munched and crunched her sweet treat, you weighed your options. This rider would likely come after you if they cared this much about their horse. On the other hand, you could tell this pretty mare was strong and plenty fast. There was a reason she was adorned with seasoned, comfortable equipment and not tricked out like some poor, ridiculously manicured war-horse. You’d wager you’d be as far as Temeria by morning before the owner knew what hit them.   
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back with more. You and I will go somewhere nice. Watch the sunrise together. Sound nice?” you purred, patting her face as she grumbled in response.   
  
The hair stood on the back of your neck as the sudden feeling of eyes on your back. Slowly, you looked back over your shoulder toward the Mayor’s estate across the thoroughfare. You saw nothing of consequence… but still felt watched. Huh…

  
A voice rang out from within the tavern, managing to dance along a scale you recognized, the melody gripping your attention. There was only one boy you knew who had a range like that. Well, perhaps he was a man now? How intriguing. What were the odds?   
  


\--------------- 

As you entered this hive of drunkards and farmhands, you saw him. Dressed in a powder blue ensemble and sporting a fancy new lute, stood your old travel companion, Jaskier Pankratz. You hadn’t seen him in years! Not since things went south after a show in Aiden. You recalled a rather lanky little tramp who prided himself on being able to charm the skirt off of a fence post. It was you, a pan flute player, and a rather burly woman who took care of the caravan’s finances. You couldn’t recall many details about the others, but Jaskier was a personality that would require some sort of magical exorcism to forget.  
As you watched him sing, you took a seat in the corner, clapping along with the crowd. It would seem he had made something of a career for himself with how well everyone knew the lyrics to his ballad. You couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride. The boy had become a slightly more famous boy.   
With a final chord, he thanked the cheering crowd and took several graceful bows before making his way toward the bar. 

“Jaskier?” you called from your seat. Those familiar blue eyes rose and met yours. They were immediately alight the moment he recognized you.  
  
“______?” he gasped with glee, walking over to you with open arms and a charming smirk. “You little minx! What the devil is a sweet little girl like you doing in an ugly place like this?”   
You flashed an annoyed look smile. That _wasn’t quite_ a direct question, but it was enough to make your stomach twist as it pleaded you to answer honestly.   
  
“I’m here to stock up on supplies before moving onto my next little venture. Passing through, really.” you said, relieved to feel your stomach relax, satisfied with your answer. He wrapped you in a hug, which you half-heartedly returned. Pulling back, he playfully pinched your chin, directing your face to and fro.   
  
“You haven’t aged a day. Hell, you haven’t aged an hour! How is that fair? Here I am, practically a hag.” he laughed as you swatted his hand away.   
  
“I agree. You’re aging like milk and you smell of it.” you teased. A hand pressed to his chest as Jaskier gasped in utter offense.   
  
“That’s it. Where is the sheriff? _How much was the reward for your arrest again?_ ” he said smoothly, turning to leave. Your stomach twisted at yet another inquiry as you caught his wrist.   
  
“5000 orens.” you muttered, earning relief. “It’s good to see you.”   
Jaskier pat your back and took a seat beside you, ordering two ales and leaning on a palm, batting his eyelashes.   
“Well, what about you, hmm? This a tour you’re on or something? Or do you call this lovely little pit home?” you asked as the Barkeep set two mugs in front of you. Jaskier slid one toward you with a sarcastic laugh.   
  
“Tour is one way to put it, I suppose.” he smirked, taking a sip. “It would seem I am a Public Relations Consultant.”   
You choked on your ale for a moment. 

“Come again?” you laughed. “Someone decided a _poonhound like you_ was skilled at winning popularity? Who landed you a job like that? Your little countess?” you purred, nonchalantly looking off.   
Jaskier wagged his finger with a playful warning. Aw, did you strike a nerve~?   
  
“First of all, she and I are on somewhat of a hiatus. Call it creative differences, or her Father coming home early from his retreat and walking in on us, however you spin it, I think we can all agree it was for the best.” he swiftly reasoned. “And secondly, I’ll have you know I’ve more than proven the worth of my lyrical caress. I work for a _Witcher_ .”   
You set your mug down, your lips parting with a gasp of intrigue. 

“Shut up.” you grinned. “You’re telling me a bloody Witcher heard your voice and didn't mistake you for a Striga?”  
Jaskier threw his head back with a laugh of pheux-mockery.   
  
“I’ll pretend you didn't just say that and move on to the part where I single-handedly polished this once grimy, crotchety old stone into a glittering gem!” he bragged, taking another swig. “Geralt was despised when I first met him. Now you can’t enter a Tavern without hearing echos of my little ballad.”   
  
“Geralt??” you asked. Okay, now **_that_ ** was a surprise. “Of fucking Rivia?”   
  
“Yep.”   
  
“The White Wolf.”   
  
“That’s the one.”   
  
“You lie!” you playfully accused.   
  
“Just because I'm the only one who _can lie_ in this conversation, doesn't mean I am~.”   
You decided to ignore that jab for the sake of polite conversation.   
  
“Well, well, well. Aren’t we a touch tight in our trousers.” you raised your mug. “Good on you. I always knew you could do something with that head, if you put yourself to task.”   
He raised his own in kind, the both of you finishing and setting your mugs down. 

“Another!” he called. There was a small lump in your throat, knowing you had no money at the moment. Furthermore, you had a horse to steal!

“Another? Jaskier, I--”

“Stop right there, I will have none of it. Geralt’s last job earned quite a sum, so don’t worry, we’re covered.”  
The Barkeep eyed Jaskier with an air of skepticism as he set down the second pair of mugs. Leaning in with a mischievous smirk, he whispered:   
_“Yes, I should mention that this is all going the Witcher’s tab.”_ the bard winked. The barkeep shrugged with a grunt and turned away.   
“I want to hear all about your little adventures! It’s been ages.The last wanted poster saw had you at a 3000 bounty, so you’ve clearly been promoted.” You quirked a brow. Eh, who’s to turn down free ale with an old friend? It’s not like you couldn’t keep an eye on that mare from here.

\--------------

“So there I was, wondering if I’d live through the night.” you cackled, the dozen or so drinks you’d had liberating you of any troubles that may have plagued your thoughts, “Nilfgarrdians surrounding me, all fast asleep. The best thing about their stupid little system is that their wealth is easy to find. There’s no need to hunt for pocket books or satchels. They’re not allowed, you see. Everything is distributed equally. Any supplies or funds are usually kept in a safe. It took some maneuvering, but I managed to lift that great bloody thing and tiptoe through the camp without any of them noticing a damned thing. Destiny intervened, Gods honest.”

Jaskier was positively giddy at the thought of you carrying a fucking safe through a sleeping centry. He looked behind you for a moment as you swallowed another few mouthfuls.

"I dragged that wretched hunk of steel to the cliff's edge and gave it a good toss. It turns out they were storing explosives in it. So in a sudden flash, _BOOM_!" you laughed, Jaskiers eyes switching back to you to laugh along. "Broken pendants and chunks of silver were peppered all over this bloody quarry."

"Better the loot than your lovely body parts scattered about, hm?" He mused, "At least it put a small dent in Nilfgaard's local supply, so not a total loss, I wager."

"Jaskier, honestly. You think I'd let perfectly good silver go to waste?" You gasped in mock offense. Jaskier rolled his head in disbelief, drunkenly shaking his head.

"You didn't." He accused.

"Took me a day and a half to collect all the shards." You bragged with the quirk of a brow. Jaskier's laughed bubbled up, ringing out in harmony with yours.  
  
“You are the only daft bastard who wouldn’t have given up. There’s a song in there somewhere. I swear to the fates I’ll find it.”   
  
“Save it, strummer. No amount of public reparations could restore this little urchin’s reputation.” you winked. Jaskier looked past you once more as he came down from the moment. When he noticed you catching him in the act, he stammered, swatting your arm and quietly begging you to be subtle. Turning to see what he could possibly be looking at, you beheld a rather well endowed woman on the other side of the tavern, practically eye-fucking your old friend. With a playful scoff, you finished your ale and stood.   
“You seem to have a rather lovely night in store. I’d better shove off and disappear.” you laughed, reaching for your affects.   
Jaskier touched your hand with a tsk.   
  


“No no no no, you can’t go yet! We’ve barely even started. You must stay--” he pouted, looking between you and his intended target. You cleared your throat with a smirk. His eyes flicked between you and the ladyfair before he sighed in defeat.  
“Okay, yes. I’m going to approach that supple young nymph and hopefully strum a tune out of her she won’t soon forget.” he pitched, “ _Buuuttt_ you should stay the night! I have a room upstairs I obviously won’t be using. Take that bed, I insist.”   
You cocked your head in disbelief. The ale had gotten to your head somewhat.   
  
“Jaskier, I really should just--”   
  
“Nope, none of that! Tomorrow we will wake up, nurse our pitiful hangovers;Then you and I will do a little show in the square for old times sake! Come on, please?” he said, taking your hands and mustering the saddest puppy face he could. Fuck. Anything but the face! You really didn’t want to spend too long in one place. And that horse might be gone by morning…   
Then again… You did feel rather plied. Worst case scenario; you would have to find a different horse. With a defeated sigh, you nodded.   
Jaskier grinned and handed you the key to a suite.   
  
“You’re an absolute peach.” he winked, kissing your cheek dramatically, then straightening his shirt. You shook your head and wiped your cheek on your sleeve as you watched him walk off toward his conquest. 

  
\----------

The room was at the top of the Tavern. As you walked the halls, you heard the whores hard at work. Good for them. You doubted you would be able to sleep at this rate.   
Stopping in front of a thick, red door, you slid your key in and opened it, finding a rather cozy little suite. A fire crackled in a small hearth, surrounded by bags of supplies and a few bottles of ale. The floor was covered in deer hide, horns adorning the walls; along with several bouquets of drying herbs and flowers, giving the room a rather unique, pleasant scent.   
You took off your headband, walking around with a rather impressed smile.   
This little space seemed sound proof, not a single lewd cry breaching these walls. The bed was nice, furs piled on generously. You noticed bags and satchels that matched the aged leathers on that mare’s saddle. Was that Jasiker’s horse?   
Wow, he wasn’t kidding. This Witcher had certainly given him a decent helping of fame if he was this well off. That little scraggly nitwit had gone and made a name for himself. You were just as disgusted as you were swelling with pride.   
Here you were, making ends meet with whatever you could swipe. Sort of made your plan a little more complicated if that mare was his. Of all the few people you would call your friends, you were pretty sure Jaskier would understand. He wasn’t ignorant to any of the underhanded work that you occasionally did when the troupe was low on food and supplies. Besides, you were just…. borrowing her. _Indefinitely_. 

Still, you made a promise. Might as well leave such conundrums for a more sober state of mind. Right now, that bed was calling to you as sweetly as a siren.   
You shed your cloak and the few pieces of armor you had on, piling them neatly at the foot of the bed. Winter’s chill had revisited the night, goosebumps washing over you as the draft from the window subtly caressed your bare legs. Better to keep your shirt on. 

The furs were delightfully soft and clean. Nestling into them, you looked into the fire across the room. This was nice. Perhaps you would try and stay with Jaskier for a few days if you could rest easy in these conditions. Your eyes became heavy, and in no time, you were drifting to sleep. 

\-------------------

Golden eyes wandered over your sleeping form as the Witcher stood over his bed. It would seem this brothel had excellent service. He requested a whore be brought to his room as he walked through the front door, and there you lay. Something seemed a little off about this scenario… but the way the furs hugged your contour was enough to keep his mind from asking too many questions. With a gruff sigh, he turned and began taking off his boots. He had had a long day of hunting a local kikimora, only to have the Mayor try and swindle him and claim he offered half his original offer. It took some persuasion, but he managed to walk away with the original amount plus tip.   
You sighed softly, repositioning yourself. The Witcher turned, getting a better look at your face… and ears. Canting his head curiously, he looked at you a little closer as he unfastened his shirt. You were undeniably lovely. Still, now his mind began to clear once he realized a half-elf whore was a rare find. Did you have the wrong room? How long had you been waiting? Were you one of Jaskier’s floozies?   
  
Your eyes creaked open as you began to wake… You could smell dirt, salt, earth… Your eyes focused, revealing a man standing over you. With a gasp, you sat up, looking around the room for a moment to gain your bearings. Instinctually, you quickly located two potential escape routes and took note of where his weapons were…   
The witcher scoffed with a sly smirk after following your gaze. No, you looked far too intelligent to be one of Jaskier’s one night stands.   
  
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell on you.” he chuckled as he began to pull his shirt off. You opened your mouth to ask one of twelve questions that were all racing to be the first from your lips, but all of them screeched to a halt once you got a look at his torso. The scars, the definition… Who the hell was this unfairly attractive stranger?   
“I’m sorry that I didn’t return sooner. The Mayor likes to talk. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”   
  
You were so confused… Did he… _know_ you? No. Why was he speaking to you like that?   
….   
_Wait. This was a brothel. Did he think--?!_   
  
Your thoughts were interrupted once he came toward the bed, those eyes boring into you with playful desire. Swallowing thickly, your eyes wandered to the pendant around his neck. A Witcher. Wait, THE Witcher? Jaskier’s Witcher? Of course Jaskier would give you a room he would have been sharing with his travel companion--   
  
A calloused finger hooked your chin and gently guided your gaze back to those amber hues.   
_Holy shit._ _  
_ _Geralt of fucking Rivia was looking into your eyes right now._

 _  
_ _And he seemed rather happy to be doing so, at that._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this pilot episode :D


End file.
